


The Time Agency Chronicles

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of all of the Jack Harkness and John Hart backstory pieces I did in Torchwood fandom. Each story is its own chapter.</p><p>If you're a subscriber, this isn't new work, FYI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rude Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning.

  


  


_John Hart introduced himself to Jack by stealing his girl._

To be fair, she wasn’t _his… yet_ , but the night was young and Jack had Katia where he wanted her after a few hours: disarmed and charmed by stories about life on the Boeshane Peninsula. Not the… difficult stories, but it hadn’t _all_ been shit.

The blonde lived down the hall in the dormitory and he’d flirted with her mercilessly until she’d finally caved and agreed to a night of dancing. Jack usually didn’t have to go to this much effort for a partner but hey, he did relish a challenge. Plus, he’d been so focused on graduation, on _not fucking this up_ , that he hadn’t done anything purely fun in ages.

He’d squeezed through the crowded bar on his way back from the bathroom to find another man’s knuckles heading up the inside of Katia’s thigh as he kissed her neck. When she opened her eyes and saw Jack standing there the unfocused look in them said something like: “ _Whuzz?_ ”

He cleared his throat and the stranger _on Katia_ froze mid-kiss, licked her collarbone and turned around.

She shuddered involuntarily and gestured at the man standing between her legs.

“Uh, this, this is… um…” she stumbled.

“John Hart,” the man supplied. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at Jack and offered his hand (the hand not still stroking Katia’s thigh), “and you are…?”

Jack’s eyes caught Katia’s for a moment and she glanced away quickly. That gave him his answer.

“Leaving.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of her chair, turned and strode towards the door, but a hand caught his arm on the way.

“Look, why don’t you stay, mate? Three isn’t exactly _a crowd_ …” John Hart said, as he quirked an eyebrow in invitation.

“No, it’s fine. I have class in the morning so…”

“Academy?” He asked Jack. A fair guess. The bar was a recruit haunt, fewer than two clicks from the Time Agency training facility.

“Class 24B. Same as her. That’s Katia, by the way,” he spit out the words.

“22A here, just ahead of you. Look, ” he said again, “Come on, I’m…”

“Forget it. You kids have fun. Can I have my arm back?” Jack pulled away and threw on his leather jacket as he pushed back though the crowd to the exit.

 

 

“Actually, I’d had my eye on her for quite a while,” John told him quietly in the hallway a week later. Jack had bumped into him on his way back from a run. John waved his hand before Katia’s door sensor to lock it and crossed his arms across his chest.

“What, five minutes?” He’d heard a few things about John Hart, and now that he could put a (just admit it, _pretty_ ) face to the name, he wasn’t surprised. Legendary predator. And usually successful.

“Possessive. But hey, okay. Whatever."  Hart shrugged and walked away, his voice fading as he muttered to himself.

"Try to be friendly, nice, honest. For _once_ and what do you get? Shite, that’s what.”

Jack just shook his head.

 

 

There was a soft staccato rap at the door.

“Who is it?” Jack called out, only to be answered by another low knock. He got off the bed, stumbled (one foot had been asleep) and cracked the door to find John Hart leaning on the frame, his eyes shifting up the hall and back.

“Can I come in? Bitch is on the warpath.”

Jack reluctantly opened the door the rest of the way.

John stepped in and splayed his body over a chair. He pulled a flask from his chest pocket and unscrewed the top.

“What a dump. Drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“What are you doing locked up in here on a Friday night?”

“Studying.” Jack situated himself back on his bed and raised an open book.

“Ooh, a bound book. _Primitive_ ,” John said, taking a deep swig and waving the flask, “Sure you don’t want a pull, gorgeous?”

“I’m positive.”

“You’re not ateetotaler, are you?” John asked, making the word sound like “serial killer.”

Jack shook his head and went back to reading.

“What are you studying?” John asked, after a moment.

“Histogeography. Rift activity sites and cultural effects.”

“Which system?”

“62. That would be Earth.”

“Ah yes, APRICOT,” John counted on his fingers, “Alexandria, Petra, Roswell, Istanbul, Cardiff, Oslo, Teotihuacan.”

“Istanbul isn’t one.”

“It _is_!” He stood and walked over to Jack, claiming the book. He scanned the page. “Fuck, you’re right, it’s not.”

“Invercargill. Guess you should hit some primitive books,“ Jack said, pointedly. He held his hand out for the tome and wiggled his fingers. “Give it up.”

“Why so tense?” John tucked the book under his arm and continued, “Come on, come out and party with me. Test is what, Monday? I’ll lend you my data files on rifts.”

Jack gave him a look and sighed, “Wow, what an offer. Istanbul? I don’t think I need your study guide. ”

John threw up his hands, letting the book drop to the bed where Jack took the opportunity to rescue it.

“I get it, beautiful. You’re still pissed off about Blondie. Go knock on her door then. You can have her. She’s irrational and bizarrely, jealous. Also, she has a bug up her arse resembling yours so you two should get on. ”

John went to the door and opened it a crack, peered out and then stepped into the hallway.

“See ya later, Jackie Joyless!” he said, and left with an entirely unnecessary door slam.

Jack rolled his eyes.

 

 

Jack leaned against the wall as the room spun. He’d never felt this sick, this weak. Ever. He could feel the edges of his vision start to go black.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Two strong hands caught him, held him up. John Hart.

“Agent recruits, clear out!” called the command sergeant.

“He needs…” John pleaded with the sergeant, “He needs help. A doctor.”

“He'll be fine. Clear OUT,” was the reply.

“Come on, with me,” John told Jack as he looped an arm around the taller man’s waist and led him outside.

“Wanna lie down,” Jack mumbled, faintly.

“Not here. My room’s closest.” John walked with Jack to the next building, practically holding him up. He led him to his room and dropped him onto the bed. Jack coughed weakly as he tried to sit up.

“Hold it, don’t yak on the rug,” John warned as he grabbed a wastebasket and set it next to the bed.

Jack leaned back onto the pillows and felt his feet being hoisted on to the bed and a tug on his boots.

The soft twist of John’s smile was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

 

 

Jack awoke to the sight of crossed spears. And a couple of what looked like Samurai swords, hanging on the wall. And to John Hart, wrapped around him like a blanket.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“Your weapons… are primitive.”

“Retro.”

“Primitive.”

“Shut up.”

“What the hell happened to me in class?” Jack asked.

John leaned onto an elbow and faced him, then traced a finger in circles lightly over his chest. “Vortex sickness, didn’t anyone warn you? If you’re that bad in the simulator, imagine what it’ll be like when you’re on a wrist strap hop.”

“Thanks for the comforting thought.”

“S’alright, anytime,” John laughed.

“Why didn’t you get sick?”

“Because. I know tricks.”

“What tricks?”

“Well,” John said, softly, leaning into Jack’s shoulder, “When traveling through a vortex event, you need to keep your eyes open.”

“Uh huh.”

The hand playing lightly on Jack’s chest roamed lower.

“You need to breathe deeply. “

John inhaled and exhaled slowly to illustrate, his face moving closer to Jack’s as he continued. With one hand, he deftly unbuckled Jack's belt and worked buttons.

“…you need to focus… on a fixed… point.”

Jack complied and their eyes met.

“..and hold on to something …stationary.”

Jack gasped with pleasure.

John’s lips stopped just shy of his and parted with a whisper:

“You won’t find this trick in a book, beautiful”

Or that trick either, Jack realized, when he woke up afterward in handcuffs, John's tongue swirling hotly in just the right spot. _Oh God_.

The stories he’d heard about John Hart didn’t scratch the surface.

_Legend._

 

 

Seven months later, Jack shut the door to his room behind him and leaned against it as he fumbled nervously with the envelope containing his first assignment. He opened it carefully and pulled out a sheet of paper.

 

**_Code name:_ ** _Excalibur_

_**Location:** System 6224_

_**Mission:** Reconnaissance only_

_**Restrictions:** Alien interaction/timeline alteration forbidden_

_**Partner:** John Hart  
_

He sighed. As much fun as John could be, and he _was fun in so many ways_ , he also wore on Jack’s nerves, when he wasn't, well, shagging him boneless. He dropped the paper, startled, when he heard a gentle staccato rap and a low voice at the door behind him.

"Hey gorgeous. Big news. Open the fucking door."

 

Good thing it was just a two-week mission.

 


	2. Captivity

The cadet sauntered in and his assailant grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly wrenched an arm behind his back, pressing him hard against the wall. The action knocked the wind out of his subject and the attacker quickly cuffed his ankles with zip-ties and secured his arms.

"Now, that was easy. Step One: Immobilize and contain subject of interrogation," Jack panted triumphantly as he regarded John, tied fast to a metal chair in his dormitory room.

"Well, you didn't... warn me," John gasped.

"You think the baddies normally get a warning? Come on, you've been through this training already; help me out and be a good bad guy." 

John raised a hand to dab at his bleeding lip, but the rope around his chest and upper arms held him to the back of the chair and limited his movement. "Fine. But you know, this is a written test first, right? You don't have to beat the hell out of me to remember the sequence."

"No, but you deserve it."

"Why? What did I do?"

"You probably did _something_ to warrant being tied up."

"Good or bad? Well, tossup, but as ever, I can't argue with your convoluted logic. And by the way, always a pleasure. The violent coercion bit really isn't necessary." 

Jack planted his hands on his hips and continued: "Step Two: Attempt to extract desired information via traditional means."

"That means you ask me questions, Beautiful."

"No. _Really_? Thanks," Jack sighed. His voice turned dark as he rounded on his classmate. " _Where is the data map_?"

"Which data map? You're gonna have to be more specific, mate."

"Name, rank and serial number, Cadet. Don't get chatty with your interrogator," Jack instructed.

"Wait, I thought you were the one practicing. I'm being the temporal terrorist or whatever."

"You're not being cooperative. I should slap you around a little."

"If I cooperated, that'd be missing the point. And you know, you are not at all intimidating, Boeshane boy. You're far too pretty. You need some scars or an eye patch or a cybernetic arm with pointy attachments to threaten your captives with."

"Oh, I've got a pointy attachment..."

John smirked. "What are you going to do, _fuck_ the classified dossiers out of your targets?

Jack gave him a dirty look.

"Well, you said you had... so, any _way_. Go on, Gorgeous. Milk me for information. The data maps? Oh yeah baby, I'll tell you everything."

Jack ignored him, stepped to a dresser and opened the top drawer. He continued, "Step Three: Create confusion and uncertainty in the subject."

"Oh yes, please keep warning me. 'Gee, I think Cover Boy is going to try to give me the oogies!' Flick the lights on and off on timers, deprive me of food and sleep, play shite music..."

"Don't you normally like it when I tell you what I'm going to do to you?" Jack asked softly, walking behind the chair.

"And you're telling _me_ to be serious?"

"Yeah. Sorry," Jack said. He forced a somber expression.  
  
"Fine, gorgeous. I'll play it your way," John sighed loudly. He rattled off name, rank and serial number in a monotone memorized litany. "And that's all you're getting out of me, you foul, filthy Time Agency _bastard_ ," he added, faking a sob.

"Ham."

"Well, you know, I.." John's retort was cut off by the strip of smooth fabric placed between his lips and tied behind his head. 

Jack whispered, walking around him, "Guess there's only one way to shut Johnny up. Well, there are a few different ways, but only one officially sanctioned by the TA Field Manual. Scared yet?"

John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, such insolence, even when you can't say a word," Jack tut-tutted and slipped another regulation blue tie around John's face, this time blocking his vision. "Now you're helpless - gagged, bound, and blinded. You can think about the implications for a while before I take off the gag and let you tell me everything."

John flipped a two-fingered salute in the direction of Jack's voice.

"Oh, that's such a polite way to act towards someone with your very existence in his depraved hands."

John made a strangled sound.

"And yes, I know what you were going to say," Jack bent from behind him to whisper in his ear, one wrist thrown lightly over John's shoulder:

"Believe it or not, you're not as unpredictable as you'd like everyone to think."

John tilted his head and smoothed his cheek against his interrogator's.

"Now, that's playing nice, target," Jack said softly, before his captive's head whipped front to back and cracked hard along his jaw. 

"Fuck," he said, rubbing the ache, "I guess you don't _want_ nice." 

Jack captured John's hands quickly and brought them behind his body, pulling them under the rope restraints. He cuffed them together.

"Since you're resisting. I'm not making any more mistakes, pal. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Step Four: Use physical intimidation, taking due care not to leave evidentiary marks." His hands played along John's shoulders and swept over the front of his neck before his fingers tightened. John swallowed hard against the pressure and Jack felt the other man's pulse quicken against his thumbs.

"Relax," he said, his voice low, "I really am not going to hurt you. Even though I'm not sure I'd trust you to give me the same consideration."

He dipped a hand to John's chest and slid over the fabric in a rough motion as he moved to face him from the front. Jack unsnapped the utility shirt with one sharp tug.

"No undershirt? _Not_ regulation," he said. He clapped loudly in front of John's face and watched him flinch.

Jack brought his hands down to stroke his captive's torso lightly with his fingertips, so gently that they barely met flesh. John shivered involuntarily. 

"You.. ticklish?" Jack contemplated this. Then decided to file that... knowledge away for a later date. He resolved to be stern, quelching a grin. 

"Step Five: Extreme duress." Jack pinched a nipple tightly and was rewarded with a low moan. He looked up.

"I'll take off the gag, if you promise not to talk, for once." Jack watched John swallow, then nod. He unfastened the sodden tie and let it drop to the floor. John took a deep breath.

"Thanks. You bas-"

"Shhh. I meant it. No talking. Or I _will_ hurt you."

Jack's palms roved flat to John's sides, then reached to undo his metal buckle. He deftly unfastened the belt and trousers and pulled them down hard, as his captive lifted to allow it.

" _Good_ target. Look, I don't even need to beat you to force compliance".

"...shhhh.." he added preemptively when John opened his mouth.

"But hey, this isn't Commando school. Or is it just that you just don't like doing laundry?"

Jack's comment was met with a crooked smile but surprisingly, no retort. As Jack's thumbnails traced a deliberate, delicate track up the insides of his bared thighs, the captive's head fell back and he stifled a moan.

"Feel that? Not leaving any marks at all."

John had to bite his already sore bottom lip, hard, to keep from making any noise then, as Jack's expert lips enveloped him and slippery fingers began to work his body first teasingly and then with rising fervor. He came fast and silently, legs shaking, as the base of the metal chair clattered hard against the floor.

John fought to calm his hitching breath before he finally spoke. 

"Not something I thought I'd ever utter, Cover Boy, but someday, I might have no other choice but to marry you. Wouldn't take extreme duress, either." 

Jack laughed and shook his head as he unfastened the ankle restraints.

" _As if_."


	3. Homeworld Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With 17 simultaneous pleasures in the Lotus Nebula waiting for you, why would you stick with one person?_

_I want you._

Jack reads John's lips from across the room, _feels_ the words tickle at a nerve somewhere along his spine and swallows hard. He's standing at the bar with a couple - another cadet and his partner from the old home system, just there for the weekend.

Jack figures the four of them could... take it back to his room, or the cadet's. He's attractive. Got that joie de vivre. The partner is... gorgeous, really. John’s type (that would be blonde in this case, but the truth is, John’s never met anyone gorgeous who’s _not_ his type.) She’s an eyes-wide homeworld honey and her arm is folded tightly into the cadet’s as he laughs and buys Jack another drink.

 _That'll last_ , Jack thinks.

The cadet is ahead of him, nearing finals. He'll soon be transporting for his first duty shot. He’ll make it home a few times in that first year, if he's lucky. If he wants to go home. The honey will wait, brag to her friends, bore ‘em stiff with the whole true love thing. Being a Time Agent is a big deal, in most places. Being with a Time Agent? Also a big deal.

Then the visits will come less often and dry up entirely. There will be blame, and pointless crying.

There's nobody waiting for Jack like this, back at Boeshane. Well, his mother, obviously, but no partner who'll expect visits or regular correspondence or to be missed. There is no framed photo in his room of a smiling face with eyes which seem to follow him around and silently approve of the sharp creases in his uniform.

Jack doesn’t like the idea of leaving anyone behind.

It happens at the Academy too. Months thrown together with other cadets lead to arrangements which turn into relationships. These are discouraged but overlooked. The faculty knows most of them won't last, won't become permanent attachments.

The idiots get tattoos. Jack knows one cadet - he's obsessing - gets his boyfriend's name tattooed on his shoulder. His partner goes into the shop with him - they're passing a bottle back and forth, laughing - and comes out with a design on his shoulder, also. It's a lotus, in honor of… well, it’s obvious which assignment he’s bucking for. _That'll last._

Attachments are not a good thing in this line of work.

 

 

"Let's party, action man," John had said, restless. He’d slapped him on the belly. “Come on Joyless, drop the books and walk your happy feet out of your fucking dorm room for once.”

Jack, stretched out on his bed, studying, had groaned in protest.

“I get out. I go places.”

“Right. This week? Barring classes? Have you really? Thought not.”

“I…” Jack considered. _Damn, he hadn’t._

“Exactly. Because you’re no fun. Come on, beautiful.”

And then he had to get off the bed because John had stepped up to jump on it, sending his books flying.

 

 

That night, the young woman's long fingernails dig into Jack’s sides as she straddles him, her head thrown back. John is quiet for once, his lips busy with the other cadet.

“These beds really need to be bigger,” the cadet moans, edging off and to the floor, and Jack sees John’s mouth curl, remembers him saying, “Beds are for sleeping”.

John would rather fuck on a desk,  halfway over a chair, pressed hard against the wall.

“I prefer the unconventional,” he’d said, and that was true.

 

 

Later, John's arm is around the blonde’s shoulder. They're sated, sweaty, tangled in a blanket on the floor.

"Where is it you come from again, love? Mind if I look you up sometime?"

Jack stirs. John looks up at him and continues murmuring softly to the woman as his hand pulls through her damp hair.

"...mmmhmm, yes. Sounds like a lovely place."

Jack knows John only calls homeworld "love" because he can't remember her name, if he'd even asked. Probably hadn't. She doesn’t know that, though. She also doesn’t know not to believe anything John says. Well, most things John says. He has this subtle tell when he’s making shit up. It’s an eye twitch. Maybe Jack will warn him about that sometime.

The other cadet stretches, curls his body around Jack's, He's listening too. Jack realises he doesn’t remember the cadet’s name, either, which is really... kind of awful.

The expression on the cadet’s face? Smug. _That's mine, over there_.

When Jack glances at his own reflection in the mirror across the room, he sees the same look.

_Dammit.  
_


	4. Excalibur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How can you...do it while looking at internal organs? You can see their food being digested," Jack made a face.

Could be worse, Jack thought on the second night of the mission. At least it's a system with multiple concurrent life forms in this time period. And drinks. Typical easy first assignment. We blend in. Sort of.

Deep in conversation with (and surreptitiously recording) an unclassified humanoid subject, he didn't see his partner leave the bar.

*

The door slammed and Jack looked up.

"Why, it's John Hart, home already, and it's not even daybreak."

"You waste far too much time on charming chat-up, Jack. I get down to business."

"Actually, I was doing what we're supposed to. You know, surreptitious recon? Interviews?"

“You told him you were writing a Lonely Planets guide, didn’t you?”

“Well,” Jack said, “it worked. Where the hell have you been?”

John leaned back to plant the back of one boot against the wall, crossed his arms and threw his fellow Time Agent a very dirty smile.

"You got lucky?" Jack laughed.

"This is me, beautiful. Luck is not a factor," John said.

"Point. Who with?"

"Kurmakan beauty and her bloke as a bonus. Bet you didn't know they come in pairs. They actually do literally come in pairs, you know."

"John."

"They also have extraordinarily long tongues. Well, I'm not sure tongues is the right word. Oral appendages, maybe?" John looked up and rubbed his chin.

"Like Ood?"

"No," John said, decisively. "Ood are completely asexual. And all they do is wander about harmonizing all the bloody time. What's that all about? Plus they've only got the one free hand. I’d have to be pretty desperate. In fact…"

"John!"

"Jealous?"

"Ummm," Jack considered the idea seriously, then grinned at his partner, shaking his head. "No, but... first, we are not supposed to interact with the locals like… that. It’s too risky. Second, Kurmakan are translucent."

"So what?"

"How can you... do it while looking at internal organs? You can see their food being digested," Jack made a face.

"You can't if you put the lights out, genius."

Jack shook his head.

John continued, "I'd prefer you but you're not always up for it, are you, Joyless?"

"Fuck off."

"All work and no play makes..."

"And I say again, fuck off."

"Anyway. Who says I wasn't on the job? I recorded everything. Wanna see?"

“Uh, I'll pass, thanks.”

John, being John, didn’t listen. He activated his wrist strap and projected an intricate image of a keyed map. “See? I did recon. Walked the whole damned settlement. In the dark, I might add. Man of action, me.”

“So you didn’t get lucky.”

“Do I look like the sort who pops a protein pill when he has a hot six course meal waiting at home?”

_“Point.”_


	5. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I've heard all of your jokes by now."

_If it's sanity you are after there is no recipe like laughter." - Henry Elliott_

 

Two weeks turned into two months, then three. As their alarm mounted, they spoke less often of the whys and the what-ifs.

“It could be forever, this...time loop nightmare fuckup they’ve dropped us into.”

“Do not say that.” Jack held up a hand to halt the conversation.

“Right. Well. Let’s drink.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

*

“Fuck, the quiet. Tired of it. Have you heard that old joke… ” John began.

“I think I’ve heard all of your jokes by now.”

“Not even close. This one… there’s a bloke – he’s stranded on a deserted planet – and one day a ship whooshes down through the atmosphere and hits, so he digs through steaming chunks of wreckage to get to the capsule, and the crew are, sadly, dead. A pity, that, but a beautiful celebrity is in there as a passenger. You know, someone he’s got a huge crush on. Daily wank material.” John took a long pull of third-rate home-distilled hypervodka.

“This isn’t a necrophilia joke, is it?”

John looked at him. “Give me some fucking credit, Gorgeous. Standards. So he rescues her and, being that it’s just the two of them, they get together. It’s like his dream come true. But after a few months of bedded bliss, he seems sort of… despondent.”

“You know that word? Or do you mean horny?”

“Shut up. He’s despondent, and the famous celebrity asks him, ‘What’s wrong, honey? Is there anything I can do?’

“So he says, ‘Yeah, I’m lonely. I miss my best mate. Could you wear this hat?’ He hands her the hat and draws a fake moustache on her with a chunk of lignite and tells her, ‘go stand over there.' So she’s game, and she does it. Then he walks up and says, ‘Oi old mate! You alright’?’ And the woman answers in this gruff voice, ‘Hey there, what’s new with you?’ and the bloke grabs her by the shoulders and says, ‘You would not believe who I’m shagging!’”

Jack burst out laughing. “Well, I’m no celebrity.”

John cuffed his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “The joke wasn’t about you, egomaniac.”

“You would boast though.”

“I would,” John said, and threw his empty bottle at the wall. They sat in silence.

“Also, who does he wank to, now?” Jack said.

“Exactly.”

“What a nightmare.”

*

Jack’s turn, and he was buried deep within John, his hands smoothing hard down his lover’s hips like a sluice of hot water.

John opened his mouth, about to say... something incoherent when he felt rather than heard the harsh whisper against the side of his neck.

“Andrea.”

John felt Jack go still and his back stiffen.

“I’m surprised it took a year for the wrong name to come out,” John said, after a long pause.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s alright," he said, his tone light. "Call me whatever you like... Shakespeare, Mark Antony, Vera...”

“In that case…” Jack resumed the motion slowly, brushing a hand softly through John’s hair.

“Andrea…” he repeated in a low growl, “You would not believe who else I’m shagging.”

 

John laughed so hard they had to stop. For a while.


	6. Hypnos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ways in which they fall asleep, and wake up.

Whatever they had done that day - work, weep, fight or fuck - John Hart would talk Jack to sleep. He talked about anything and nothing. He speculated, raved, told stories, planned missions, related conquests, cracked wise.

Jack discovered that he wasn't expected to answer or make sympathetic noises - or even politely try to stay awake and pretend to listen.

As John wound down, his voice would go lower, softer, hypnotic. Sometimes Jack decided that sleep wasn't what he needed.

Then, beneath or behind him, John would murmur into his ear. He instinctively knew what to say and when - how it felt, what he planned to do to next - the sound a sweet, suggestive hum.

John only shut up when he finally fell asleep.

When Jack gasped awake in terror (Gray - it was always about losing Gray) or otherwise stirred to consciousness in the middle of the night, he found himself wrapped in John's tight hold, immobile.

Jack's nightmares never woke his partner, but John's solid body covered him like hothouse ivy, comforted him, dragged him into the present.

 

Jack was so still in sleep, like a marble statue or a corpse, but beautiful. Always on his back, arms splayed out or up, so... trusting.

He didn't wake easily in the morning, and after John watched him sleep for as long as he could stand it (not usually patient, he could stand to watch Jack sleep for a very long time) he did things. Jack never just woke up. He was roused with wanton fingers or a questing tongue or the suction of soft lips, somewhere.

One morning Jack felt a steady pressure at his shoulder blades and opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in an intricate lattice of smooth rope.

"You were a... Scout?" he gasped and threw his head back when a soft tug dragged a knot across the inside of his thigh.

"Shibari. Japanese bondage," John Hart hissed into his ear. _"The Scouts threw me out."_


	7. Pleased To Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Captain Jack Harkness really is pleased to meet you, whoever you are. You're gorgeous, you know. 
> 
> (A character study)

That exuberant grin. The randy gleam in his eyes when they zero in on yours. He might grip your forearm as he shakes your hand...hell, he might even kiss that hand. You have lovely hands, by the way. So's the rest of you, if you don't mind him telling you. He will - if he sees the rest of you at some point - which is not unlikely if your flattered blush and stammered reply are any indication.

If you're attractive, Captain Jack Harkness is happy to make your acquaintance, whatever your name is. What's attractive, anyway? Male, female, both, finned, tentacled? Hey, you're sexy.

 

"Pleased to meet you, Martha Jones."

" _Jack_..." the Doctor warns.

"I'm just saying hello!"

"Stop it!"

"But I..."

"Stop it!"

Five years in a time loop will do that to you. Oh, sure, at first he and John found it amusing to reintroduce themselves to the travelers at the bar. But they were the same (mostly) humanoids, and that just became boring.

"Should I seduce him again?"

"Why, itching for a challenge?" John replied.

"Well..."

"You already know what'll work - it'll take a week before he'll even let you slip him any tongue. Plus... crap shag, as I also well know."

"How about her?"

"No challenge at all, that one."

"True," Jack sighed.

"Barkeeper's nan?"

"John, she's nearly 80. She could break a hip"

"I'd be gentle?"

"God, you're worse than I am."

John is damned good in bed. So's Jack. And after they fiddled with the vortex manipulators a few times and ended up in the same spot, at the same time (once again, but the dimensional designator was off or something... oops) with no other life forms, well, it's not like they had any other options.

Sometimes John would get into a snit and cut Jack off, and they would both become so frustrated they'd have a knockdown drag-out battle in the deserted street. Hey, anything they'd destroyed would be back in one piece in 6 days and 14 hours (and 32 minutes) anyhow.

Then they'd have sex. With each other. Again.

Five years. It took five YEARS on their timeline for the Agency to make adjustments to their recall calculations and recover them. (Brilliant debrief that was: "It's only been two weeks. Why are the two of you so angry?")

 

You know something? You're awfully attractive, but more importantly, yours is a face he hasn't seen before. Ever.

Captain Jack Harkness is _very pleased to meet you._


	8. A Notional Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One highly unlikely way our beloved Time Agents might have made it home after being stranded in that five-year time loop.
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, it's crack. This explains the origin of Bikini Cops, but Blizzard remains a dark, dark mystery.

The night before the Time Agency found them again, John spent a pleasant evening in a bar chatting up a potential shag.

 _Really too bad this dolly bird’s another figment of my imagination_ , he thought, as he looked her up and down and gave a low whistle. 

“You’re a bloody stunner, you are.”

The woman looked around the deserted room and snorted, “Phwoar, matey. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

No, really. I love ginger hair. More than blond, actually. It’s rarererer. Rare-rer. Especially where I’m from. You should go to the Damascene cluster sometime. Love that place. They’d love you. Mostly brunettes there. But you, you’re… monique. Oh, Monique. She’d have loved you too. Really, really well. Anyway, meant u-nique with a U. For YOU. You are sexy. Yer unique, Red. An' sexy.” He leaned unsteadily to plant a sloppy kiss on the woman's cheek but wobbled and missed by several inches.

“And you’re completely bladdered. Pissed. In your cups, you are,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“And you’re my drunken hallucination. So humour me. The least you can do is listen. The only other person here never… oh pshhh. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. We’re stuck. Stranded. Time Agency just left us here alone. Time loop. It’s been nearly five ye- what year is it?”

“Erm… 5099?”

“FIFTY damn ninety-NINE! That’s right!” John gestured towards his wrist strap.

“See this, sweetheart? Advanced technology. Almost impossible to break. Waterproof to 350 leagues, vortex-shielded, too. I can.. unlock doors, disable comms n' bombs and watch video hololograms on it – and Bikini Cops is good, no matter what BoeFace says. No style in general and he’s pretentious about entertainment. But, point. Know I had one. This thing on my wrist? it doesn't tell time! Irony. I love irony!”

He tried to sit on a stool and failed, sending it to the floor. He leaned on the bar instead.

“Right,” the woman said and nodded slowly, eyeing the door.

“Have you seen Bikini Cops? It’s this team of rogue alien catchers. And they are smokin’ hot. The bikinis don't stay on f'long. Loads of orgies. Y’know, we could watch it. It might give us some ideas. Not that I don’t already have a pretty good idea what I’d like to do to you,” he slurred, winking and rubbing his hand along her arm.

The woman stared at him, mouth open.

“You find me irre-irresistably attractive, don’t you? ‘Course you do, Gingerbread.”

“You clearly need some kind of... serious help,” she replied.

“Nobody can help. Noooobody in the universe. Nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen…” the song trailed off after a few bars and he opened his eyes to find himself alone.

“An' now I can’t even get a hallucination to listen to me. This. Is. Fucking. Brilliant.” 

 

Back at their place, Jack slept, dreaming wistfully of chasing glowing dune slugs with his dad in the Boeshane twilight, until John staggered in, still singing:

“Encounters one and two are not enough for me. What my body needs is close encounter threeeeee!”

“Hullo, gorgeous!” he shouted, “You have serious vector deviation! Niner-niner Zero! This is Staaaaar Comm!”

Jack grabbed the first solid object within reach and threw it at his partner. Good thing it wasn’t loaded. 

“Take me, make me feeeeeel the force! Ignore the computers, we're locked on couuuurse!” John sang.

Jack pulled a pillow over his head and attempted to ignore him. He knew from experience that John would probably drop within minutes. I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper was generally his partner's final musical rendition following a binge.

 

“So, you had a dream about a woman who wouldn’t have sex with you.”

“It was a vision. By the way, that was one manky batch of home brew, Beautiful. And oh, she definitely would have had sex with me. I do not hallucinate frigid birds.”

Jack sighed. He didn’t really want to listen to hungover John babble this morning, but nothing was going to stop him from talking and it certainly beat the singing. He never shut up.

“Okay, what was her name, then?”

“…built like a hypersteel rotor ship, too. Nice t… you know, she did have a name. Domina or Donna or something. Domina sounds better. Much, much better.” He made whip-cracking gestures. “Whhtpsssh!”

Later that afternoon, Jack held his partner’s wrist in his lap as John slept soundly, and worked the strap controls to secretly watch a holo of Bikini Cops. Actually, it was pretty good, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Ever. He flicked the controls to turn off the feed, and just for pathetic giggles, hit the vortex homing switch. He hadn’t attempted that futile move in a while. 

An instant later, the pair were suddenly back at the base, dumped unceremoniously on their asses in the Master Control dome. No explanation or “we’re sorry, Agents” or a whisper of back pay, fuck you very much. Of course, from the Agency’s perspective, it had been two weeks, not five years. The only thing in the debrief report was a cryptic notation referring to some sort of classified priority communiqué labeled JS, TL via DN, temp.

It was really too bad they’d materialized back at the base without their clothes, but Command never said a word. It was not the first time that had happened with Time Agents. 

And it wouldn’t be the last time it happened with _these_ Time Agents.


	9. Reeled Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing find themselves back in the world, after a very long time in the loop.

Took a look at my watch, it was quarter to six  
Took a little time but I finally got it fixed.  
We were rollin', reelin' and a-rockin'...

\- Reelin' and Rockin' - Chuck Berry

 

For five years, time had ribboned in upon itself, just for them. But one day the ribbon unfurled, went taut again, and it was over. 

Jack had never known a feeling quite like this, a wash of pure and straight relief. The next time he'd feel exactly this way, John would be there then too, standing with him in a clearing in a different system entirely.

It was over. They weren't going to spend the rest of their lives in a loop. It happens, a fact they had known when they'd realised what the problem was - why their vortex manipulators emitted a steady blink instead of a satisfying chirp and hum when they entered the coordinates.

They had tried it every two weeks, at first, at the same place, the same time they'd landed. This was logical. Then they became a bit frantic about it. Later, the attempts became rote and then rare and random. Jack would notice his arm begin to sweat and itch as the strap warmed under the heat of the suns, and remember they hadn't had a go in a while, and he'd tap in the sequence without glancing at the keys, holding his breath.

But then he would look and the readout was always the same. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Suddenly, it was over, and Jack stared back at John when they'd realised where they were - at Agency headquarters - and when it was - and he'd never seen that look on his partner's face before. He thought it must be shock. 

Jack didn't realise he was wearing an identical expression.

Both Time Agents, as one might expect, were more than mildly fucked-up by the whole experience.

 

The debrief was lengthy. There were psych tests and examinations. During the isolation period they were kept away from the other agents and far, far away from the cadets. John was detoxed. The chemicals left him coughing and retching into the night. Jack heard him, down the corridor.

Jack escaped that, but he'd been eating poorly for quite a while. Deemed too thin, he was given vitamin injections. 

They didn't speak to each other much, after years of not being able to speak to anyone else.

Jack had always liked to talk, tell stories, flirt. After an hour or two in the company of others on the ward, though, he'd check his watch and make an excuse, fake a yawn. He'd return to his room, dragging his fingertips against the cool steel doorframes as he walked. 

He would stretch out on his bed, rest his face on the pillow, and think about what he was going to do next, what his next assignment might be like. He didn't consider leaving the Time Agency for a second; nothing would ever make him consider that, not even a stupid error like this. Subliminal messages interwoven with the hum of the air vents probably had something to do with that. Or maybe not. 

 

John usually turned up for dinner, a chempouch strapped to his arm, his sculpted cheeks pale. 

"Having a good time?” Jack asked him, after they’d silently gorged themselves on meat and vegetables which were absolutely fantastic… and not synth. 

"That would be a very large no, gorgeous."

 

Weeks passed and Jack found himself in John's room, leaning against the closet door as he watched his former partner pack his black utility bag. John is unbelievably precise when it comes to his belongings. And his weapons. 

"See you later, then, Boeshane." 

"Yep."

"I'd like to say it's been fun, but..."

"Well."

"Yeah. Okay. Bye then, beautiful," John said huskily, his palm clapping Jack on the chest as he passed.

Jack nodded, as the door slammed.

 

A few days later Jack was on a long run at dusk. Pushing himself hard, he left the trail and ventured out among the trees and scrub, tipping his feet over rocks and feeling a burn in his thighs as he lengthened his stride. He finally slowed to a jog and started at a blur in the corner of his eye before he was shoved to the ground.

He was able to land just one hard and sloppy punch before a familiar mouth covered his.

"Dammit, don't come up behind me like that," Jack said, when he was able to catch his breath again.

"You know me."

 

"That was really a pathetic goodbye, earlier,” Jack said finally, as they lay on the grass later, stars shining bright overhead.

“I thought so too.”

"Again?"

"Mmmhmm."

 

John stepped into new temporary quarters with the envelope. New orders. System 922. He'd sat through the briefings earlier, bored stiff. Smugglers, harnessing unathorised vortex energy illegally in order to pass intel to terrorists for credits. Orders: No kill. Capture for rehab. It beat surveillance, but still. Boring.

He had a new partner, his Agent In Charge, Jordan something-or-other. Veteran. He'd been to the range with her and their skills were well-matched. Knives, lasers, old-school guns. He'd had five unscheduled years of practice.

As the haze cleared from their session they'd checked out the targets, satisfied. She'd carefully set her weapons down, ditched the ear cans on the concrete and grabbed him from behind when he turned. She roughly ran one hand up under his shirt, the other over the front of his trousers.

"Ya interested?" 

Subtle, that. They were well-matched.

She’d commanded him down to the floor right there, which was the AIC’s privilege, he supposed. As spent shells, still hot, burned little grooves in his back, he squinted up at the swing of her straight black bob, the slant of her dark eyes. 

They were the wrong colour, but he’d get used to that.

 

Well, I looked at my watch, it was 10:29,  
I had to hold her hand; she was still holdin' mine  
We were reelin', reelin' and a-rockin'


	10. Time Agency Awards Banquet, 5094

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he ever went back to the homeworld (and if he'd had a house) he could hang it in a hallway, along with the others he'd received over the years.

John gripped the engraved disc of hypersteel and glass as he stepped out for a biting breath of air. It was a bizarre little object - half indestructible, half fragile - and cold to the touch.

He ran a thumb over the lettering. Technological marvel, it was; the name was alterable with the whack of a few buttons. He could change it along with his aliases, if he'd brought any baggage on a mission, which of course he wouldn't. I'd be a dead giveaway, no? He needed his strap and the clothes on his back and a prodigious number of weapons.

If he ever went back to the homeworld (and if he'd had a house) he could hang it in a hallway, along with the others he'd received over the years. An I Love Me Wall. He could stare at it when he felt that his life, his accomplishments, had been a bit of a joke. Which wouldn't really make them less of a joke.

Intelligence Gathering, Top Capture Rate, Marksmanship. Most of his were labelled Marksmanship.

None of these really meant...anything. 

Who would care in another hundred years, when this disc had long ago rolled through a recycle queue, its glass surface pitted and illegible and steel bits destined for a second or tenth life as a handful of bullets or a baby's first spoon? 

John considered flinging the disc off the balcony or stuffing it into a bin, but tucked it into his jacket instead.

He heard the band strike up again and hoots and whistles from the ballroom. The official and serious part of the evening was over and it was time for the frivolity, the toasts, the "fun" awards.

With a smirk, he headed in as he considered who might be first in the running for "Rear of the Year".


	11. Psyched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's got quite a mouth on him, and Jack has missed it more than he'd probably like to admit...

It had been nearly a year since they had seen each other and it was unexpected even though they were there for the same reason: another psych eval following the loop debacle. Time Agents had regular evaluations, but theirs were more extensive. It wasn't a good idea to arm people and send them through the vortex if they were...unbalanced.

Still, the pair rarely crossed paths, by Agency design. That they'd been scheduled for simultaneous appointments was likely a screwup, a fact which would not surprise either agent, considering prior screwups, one of which was well, major. 

John was already waiting in the office, leaning against a wall instead of sitting in one of the two chairs. He had two apparent physical states: completely relaxed and sprawled out over any available piece of furniture or completely relaxed and propping up the nearest wall. In either case, an assumption of passivity would be a mistake; John was like a coiled spring, always ready to snap back.

 

Jack leaned a shoulder against the same wall instead of taking a chair. It wouldn't do to be at a disadvantage. 

"So."

"So."

"How's your new partner, Beautiful?"

"Fine, just fine," Jack said. He studied his own hands as if they were fascinating artefacts.

"No," John said, curling his lip. "I mean, how _is_ she?"

"Crude."

"Ooh, that sounds intriguing."

"No, you're crude. Since when do I kiss and tell?"

"Well," John considered the question. "All the time, when you have something positive to say?"

"If you've gotta know, we're...not."

John's eyes widened. "Really." He rolled his upper back along the wall to face Jack, who stared back as his former partner continued. "Picking up pretty little things in various places around the galaxy, then, are you?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Often, in fact. Are you on something?"

"Absolutely fucking not. Clean as a whistle. My body is a temple." John's mouth twisted. "You're not getting any, are you?"

"Oh please."

"No, wait..." John paused, "of course you are. Just nothing meaningful and serious."

Jack scoffed. "Like it was, with you?"

"Pleasure is one of the few things I do take seriously, Boeshane."

"That's not what I meant."

"I'm not talking about sex, but you do still try to find meaning in things, don't you? The universe, the Agency, your lunch. Purpose, meaning, yadda yadda. You're a... secret idealist."

"Your point?" Jack asked gruffly.

John pushed himself off the wall with one boot and faced Jack, then leaned closer and spoke, his breath tickling against the side of Jack's jaw.

"You _miss_ my point, don't you?" 

"You never stop."

"...and that's why," John hissed. His tongue darted out to tease softly against Jack's ear before he pulled back with a smirk. "I never stop." 

"That's right. You absolutely never stop getting on my nerves."

"Oh baby, I love nothing better than getting on your nerves."

Jack regarded him for a moment before gripping John's shoulders. "...and you know what else?" he said, "You still need to learn when to shut the hell up."

He hauled John to his chest and claimed his mouth in a deep and punishing kiss which slid slowly and inevitably into a warm and languid truce. It had been a while since Jack had been kissed quite like this. It was as if they had all the time in the world. 

Once, they had believed that this was so.

Jack was stirred back to the present by an urgent tug at his belt. He pulled his lips away reluctantly, with a murmur of protest.

"You went rock hard the second you walked in," John whispered as he worked the buckle and unfastened Jack's trousers.

"Not here," Jack growled, low in his throat.

"Yes. Here."

He opened his mouth to argue but saw the heat in John's eyes and realised he'd lose this one, just before his former partner kissed him again, moved his hands to splay against Jack's back, lowered them and suddenly...dropped. 

Then John's lips, precise and lethal, enveloped him and it seemed to Jack that minutes passed before he finally remembered to breathe. He gasped frantically for air as John shifted to his knees from a squat and his tongue played along the underside of Jack's cock, before that... oh yes, amazing...so missed this... mouth closed around him again and began a slow deliberate cadence of draw and pull.

Jack shivered with pleasure as his fingers plucked at John's hair and along his collar, then finally clasped into tight fists. He pressed them into the wall at his sides, his fingernails slicing into dampened palms. 

Nothing legal should feel this fucking good, he thought.

Jack's vision blurred as he took in the wall opposite them. A soothing green colour, a framed diploma - Dr Amelia... something - and the projection of a foreign and shifting landscape. 

 

Staring up, John saw Jack's head swivel at the sound of the airlock. He pulled back and turned to see the nurse drop his clipboard, mouth ajar.

"Don't stand there gawking, love. Join in or shut the fucking door."

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" the nurse yelped as he backed out.

John's hands ranged roughly over the back of Jack's shaking thighs, then clutched at them through folds of fabric. "Guess this will go into a report so the headshrinker can determine what it all means."

Jack looked down again, his jaw flexing, eyes deep and desperate with need.

"Dammit. Don't you stop now or -"

Before he could finish, John dipped his mouth down to one hand and those lips, feverish and familiar and wicked, wrapped around him again, working more urgently, as a slick thumb teasingly stroked his opening once, then again, before being thrust inside and turned.

Jack nearly blacked out.

A hard shudder wracked his body as John swallowed - and the back of Jack's head hit the wall with a smack. Not that maintaining silence mattered now, but he managed to bite back a shout and groaned softly instead.

"Fuck."

His breath slowed and became less ragged as John rose and pressed his palms flat to Jack's chest.

Jack's hand snaked to the nape of John's neck as he crushed their lips together, tasting himself and relishing the hot slide of John's tongue. After a long moment, John pulled away, dropped a hard kiss on Jack's collarbone and whispered in his ear.

"Don't want it to keep you up all night wondering, Gorgeous, so I'll tell you what this meant. Meant I miss the way you taste, watching your face when you come. That's all."

Neither spoke as Jack fastened his trousers and John wiped the smudge from his boot off of the wall.

 

The appointment was rescheduled and their respective missions were both delayed. Some urgent incident had apparently led to a reallocation of staff, which had messed up the rota. What a surprise.

"We'll see you gentlemen on Friday then, " the nurse said, avoiding their eyes.

 

The Agents stepped into the softly lit corridor and the portal closed behind them with a soft snick. John turned right, Jack left, and footsteps echoed until one set stopped and Jack turned and called his former partner's name. John spun and stood, his face hidden in shadow.

"Well? Coming or not?" Jack asked, and waited for a typically lascivious response. Or a "not," which would have been more disappointing than he would've liked to admit, even to Dr Amelia Something-or-other, who was probably bound to secrecy or professional discretion or whatever they called it.

John surprised him by simply striding to catch up, but as he approached, Jack saw his smile.

They were outside, squinting in the shock of daylight before John answered.

"Yes, _please_."


	12. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Exit-Wounds, the two former Time Agents reunite outside of Jack's territory.

Lovely art gift by laurab1

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/51stcenturyfox/pic/0004yh0k)

 

Over lunch in the Hub's conference room, Ianto munches dispassionately on a turkey sandwich and Gwen plays with a paper straw wrapper. Breaking the silence, Jack cracks a joke, forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and lets them know he's going away.

"How long, Jack?" Gwen asks quietly, a note of uncertainty in her tone.

Jack glances at Ianto and notes that he is holding his breath. Since Owen and Tosh... they had kept one another close.

"I'm not hopping the space/time continuum if that's what you're both concerned about. Venice. One week, and I'll be back. Promise."

Jack isn't sure why he'd responded affirmatively to the invitation from his former partner. But... he had.

*

Jack pulls thoughts from nowhere or blanks his mind and takes in the sight of potted plants on iron balconies. He wanders without a destination; another first.

Jack knows he's making it worse, but he isn't ready to feel better. He's come early to wallow alone, to twist a teaspoon slowly in the afternoon light and watch the reflection play on the wall as the caffè della casa cools before him. He walks without purpose through cemeteries and winds around neighborhoods of small old houses and large old houses. He stops to stare at cheap, faded Carnevale masks in a storefront and his own reflection in a dirty canal.

Elegiac. He rolls the word over his tongue. Grief and time, and solitude. These are luxuries.

He dismisses a flash in the corner of his eye, more than once. Couldn’t be. Not yet.

*

It's nearing the end of the third day, at sundown, when Jack realises he hadn't been seeing things. He ducks into a doorway and when his tail passes he steps out and grips him by the shoulder.

"You've really lost your touch," Jack tells him.

"I knew you were there."

"What? I blend," Jack retorts.

"Yeah, you and that coat."

"You certainly can't talk."

"Guess not," John Hart concedes, tipping a grin. “I don’t exactly wear camouflage. Not anymore. Though uniforms... I tend to like a bit of uniform. A sliver of ceremony. A touch of tradition, a-"

"I thought you were planning to be here tomorrow."

"Well, I’m stalking you, Boeshane. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"I was concerned."

"You have a very odd way of showing concern. In general." Jack’s voice rises, chokes and draws the shop clerk’s attention for a beat before she returns to her task, straightening a row of ceramic mugs.

“Come with me,” John says, softly.

“I don’t want company at the moment.”

“Think you really do. Or you wouldn't have come, would you?” John gives his arm an insistent tug. Jack allows it, lets himself to be led down the street in the near dark.

“A bar? What a surprise.”

“Don’t judge. It’s unbecoming. I need a drink after following your mopey arse about.” Inside, a television flickers with sporting news, but the surface of the bar is reassuringly ancient and polished. A bartender with a shaven head and a snowy white shirt places two cocktail napkins on the surface with a practiced flourish.

Jack glances sideways at John, who requests absinthe.

“Water for me.”

The bartender throws Jack a dubious look. Really? He clarifies: “Aqua minerale, per piacere.”

The bartender nods. "Prego."

“Healthy living? You?” John scoffs.

“Hydration. It’s the new thing.”

“Like you have that to worry about your health anymore, Superman. If I were you, I’d be huffing Selachian cluster dust from the hot pink backsides of Ockoran concubines. Daily.”

“You would.” Jack accepts the drink with ice and a twist. “But that shit always made me aggressive.”

“And randy, you must admit.”

For the first time that day, Jack cracks a smile. “All right. So,” he says, tracing a damp circle on his glass. “To what do I owe the dubious and unexpected invitation?”

“Dubious, yes, but you showed, didn’t you?”

“Curiosity got the better of me.”

“I wanted to check up on you, see how you were, after... you’ve been a basket case.”

“How would you know? I-”

“A little bird-“

“No little bird sang,” Jack says, forceful and certain.

“Could I finish? May I speak? A little bit of surveillance equipment in your cave.”

“You bugged the Hub?”

“Yep.”

Jack shakes his head. “When?”

“I had some time to spare at one point. You were sort of tied up.” John takes a final swig of his drink and motions for the bartender.

“Chained, if I recall correctly. And then you proceeded to torture me.”

“I know. Electricity. Really primitive. Sorry.”

“Look,” Jack says, glancing at John’s elbow on the bar and shifting his gaze to the ragged edge of scar tissue visible at the edge of his wrist. “You and I… we’re fine. I know what pressure Gray had you under and we’re square, all right?”

“I don’t think we are,” John says, staring Jack down.

“What do you want?”

“Said I’d see you around.”

“This is not what I had in mind. What’s it been, a month?”

“You know, Jack… I remember sitting on a forsaken dirt ball outer system vacation spot with you at one point and getting into more than one philosophical discussion about the nature of time. How screwed up we were, stuck there. Seems to me you have a lot of time now so I asked for a few days. Is that, I don’t know, awful or audacious or something?”

“I'm here, aren't I?" Jack rolls his eyes and motions at John's glass, cloudy and topped with a dripping spoonful of rock sugar. "How can you drink that?”

“Have you tried it? Interesting effects on the brain, on perception.”

“So I hear.”

“Again, I say, water?"

Jack rolls his eyes and sips.

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re going back to Cardiff?”

“No, I just…” Jack stops. “Just… let’s go to yours.”

John tilts his head.

“…and not like that,” Jack continues. “We’re talking.”

“We are.”

They pay and walk and weave their way around well turned-out girls and boys out for a late dinner. John’s head swivels more than once.

“Venice seems to be your sort of place,” Jack points out the obvious as they turn, take a quieter path.

“It is. Bars, great food, gorgeous people. Only thing missing is-

“Let me guess. Monaco next?”

“Maybe.”

“You’ll lose your shirt, gambling there,” Jack says, amused.

“Oh, you so underestimate me, as usual. But speaking of, someone tried to buy my jacket the other day. Antiques dealer.”

“You’d blend better.”

“I don’t have to blend. I’m not on a mission for the bloody Agency.”

“Sure about that?”

"Dead sure, Jack. Dead sure."

*

John has a small room in a good hotel with a turn-down service and white marble floors in the bath. Jack is impressed.

"This is nice. Do they put chocolates on your pillow at night?"

"The word is sumptuous. You never appreciated things like that before."

“Yeah, well… my standards have gone up.”

John lets that one go. Jack is jumpy, he thinks. On edge. It’s like he’s got a layer of fatigue stretched over him like a caul but he’s all nerves underneath. So John tells him stories, just like he used to. And Jack has stories too. Some of them are funny… he has a way with a tale, Jack does. But some are just sad.

The woman during the war. Jack tells that one. And he tells John where he picked up the name he’s wearing. The stories are good, but the drink was good too, and John lets Jack's voice lull him down and push him over, just like it used to. That’s how they'd get to sleep. Five years is a long time but they both love a yarn, and when they would run out of stories they would made them up and the characters would blur together like the long-shot of a crowd in a film. Them and then and what and when I saw and felt. A film others wouldn't, couldn't understand, not really.

Hours later, John raises his head from the pillow, throws a hand behind it and peers at the chair in corner of the hotel room as his eyes adjust.

“Fuck me, Gorgeous. Are you still awake?”

“No. And yes.”

“You’re hilarious. Or maybe you’re the joke. Can’t die, won’t drink, don’t sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much these days.” Jack says, quietly.

“Can’t you be awake and horizontal? You. Sitting there. It's just... fucking creepy.”

“Fine.” The side of the bed dips with Jack’s weight as he removes his boots, then chases them with his trousers and shirt. He slips beneath the top sheet, but not before John sees his boxers are tenting.

“… and don’t think you’re going to use that on me just because I’m convenient.”

“You wish. And you have historically been incredibly inconvenient.”

Suddenly, John’s mouth is hovering above his, feather-light, seeking permission for once. Jack lifts a hand and slips it behind John’s neck, drawing him in. At first, just a taste. Liquor and languor and need. The kiss deepens into something indolent and delicious.

“Actually, I do wish.”

Jack groans into his mouth. “I don’t need this.”

“I do. And you do. Don’t tell me you don’t fuck anymore, either.”

A pause follows and stretches out in the half-dark as Jack does the same. “That, I do,” he says, his voice raw and low.

John smooths his hand over Jack’s thigh and slides up, stopping short. Jack inhales through his teeth and his cock jumps under the bedclothes - and again when John’s mouth drops to the crisp linen and emits one hot breath. John lifts an eyebrow, throws him a filthy look and licks slowly along the line of Jack’s cock, painting a damp line onto the white sheet.

“You... fucker,” Jack moans, turning his head to the side into the pillow.

John shifts, swings a leg over and straddles Jack, over the sheet, trapping his arms at his sides. He begins to grind, slowly at first, then faster, head thrown back, cock in hand, twisting his hips and screwing Jack into the bed.

Jack comes first, bolting upward with a ragged gasp before John follows and collapses, dipping his damp forehead to Jack's chest. A moment passes before he speaks:

"You claim you're someone else now. Someone better. But the look on your face, the first time I got you off... it was just like that. On your cot at the Academy.” He drags his wet and hot forehead along Jack's chest and murmurs into his collarbone.

"I really missed that look."

*

After and after again, the gasps and shudders and whispers die and the elegant room is quiet.

“I thought you were probably dead, but I didn’t really believe it,” John says, as his fingertips play along Jack's back and over his shoulders. “I had hoped you were just AWOL, out of range. But ‘dead’ did cross my mind more than once.”

“You looked.”

“I did. And when I couldn’t find you, I decided to find Gray.”

“Why?”

"Because I didn't know what else to do," John says. "And because you would have wanted someone to... pick up the search."

“I was stranded,” Jack says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This system? Not so bad.”

“Somewhere else. Then I ended up in Cardiff, and was stranded again.”

“How long?”

Jack is silent, reflective, and John is too, realising how much he doesn't know, will never know.

“How _long_?” he repeats, insistent, propping himself up on one elbow and rolling Jack back until he can see both eyes as Jack blurts out the year and the date. Memorised like their serial numbers once upon a time and always.

Five years. That's a wink and a blink compared to this.

John is shocked silent. He swallows against the lump in his throat, tightens his grip and drops a kiss on Jack’s collarbone before he can speak again.

“I’ve never felt more like a distant memory,” John says.

Jack looks at the ceiling. A smile creeps into his voice as he speaks.

“A recent memory, now.”

“Not that I’m forgettable.”

“No,” Jack confirms, before he starts to laugh. Before they both do.

*

A few hours later, John is on the road, heading southwest on the A4/E70 on a motorcycle he’s bought on a whim after surreptitiously hacking a cash machine.

Jack sits in business class on a 747, a cup of metallic-tasting coffee untouched before him.

He rests his temple on the window frame and watches the earth disappear beneath a lush blanket of clouds. 

 

_fin._


End file.
